Bombastus
by Blistex
Summary: The Grand Central Ball was an event for military personnel, diplomats, and their guests to congregate, dance, and go about their pretentious business. For an unwitting Fullmetal Alchemist, it stood as a day of reckoning. EdxWinry, manga based, UPDATED
1. Part One

Prior to forcing Edward Elric to attend the Grand Central Ball, and skipping the festivities himself, Colonel Roy Mustang bestowed unto him some heartfelt advice.

_"Edward._

_It's humiliating enough that you're so short._

_So learn some basic foot movements before going, alright?"_

Of course, after vigorously cursing his superior, Edward had done no such thing.

Grandeur and décor suffocated his senses. His eyes singed from the intensity of the ballroom's sheer dimension and ornate complexity. Edward took in the expansive marble flooring, a preposterously high, ornamented ceiling, decorated motifs, dark lacquered wood, mingling guests, red tapestries and looming archways. The pervasive golden light emanating from throngs of wall-mounted candles and the multi-layered grand chandeliers high above him illuminated his surroundings, but Edward failed to feel the intended warmth and splendor.

Edward tapped his foot with rapid irritation amid clattering high heels, the hum of conversation and clinking crystal glasses.

Squinting, he spotted a small orchestra at the front of the hall, the players prepping and turning pages for the next number, sitting arranged on a multi-leveled stage. Following a mounting hush, the conductor raised his arms.

As a slew of strings slowly crescendoed across the hall, Edward wasn't sure what annoyed him more, the upper class atmosphere or the fact that he had actually dressed for the occasion. Black dress pants, clean undershirt, black vest and jacket and, to his taste, an untidy collar and tie.

The light from above reflected off his new hand-threaded shoes, the music falling into the background.

Clutching suitors' hands and shoulders, dresses swirled as male partners swung their fair ladies.

Edward sighed, wishing that Alphonse, who had said he _wouldn't_ be coming, had. Attending things like this was stifling, and in his frank opinion, stupid. While Alphonse had self-consciously waved the notion away with an armored hand, saying that he'd only serve as a distraction, _"And it's not like I can dance anyway,"_ Edward would have liked to have had him along, at least to participate in belittling everything.

The far end of the hall was intermixed with crowds and dining tables, where most of the diplomats sat, whom Edward had made an effort to avoid. He figured that without his brother around, without an escort, and without his tell-tale red coat, he wouldn't easily catch the sight of untrained eyes. Aside from a few snide remarks and a couple of handshakes, the Fullmetal Alchemist had passed through the dining section relatively unscathed.

Edward looked up to his far left. The Fuhrer was present, sitting with his own company of men up in a balcony. His jaw clenched, recalling Mustang's word that at this event, it was highly unlikely that the Fuhrer, his fellow homunculi, or his men would try anything. Not because there wasn't the opportunity, but because there was no need. Causing tension between foreign nations was, at the moment, no longer necessary. In their minds, their scheme was coming to a close, anyway.

_Security reasons, _he had said._ Anything else could happen. _

Aside from his normal tight lipped, minacious smile, the Fuhrer paid the Fullmetal Alchemist no heed.

Edward gulped back the bile rising up in his throat, and turned towards the refreshments.

His jaw dropped.

A vast plethora of juicy, moist morsels gleamed across the long side-table with a succulent sheen. Splayed out along the table top was a colorful variety of luscious appetizers, arranged in a complex, ornate fashion. Salivating indecently and ignoring nearby glares, Edward seized the nearest hors d'oeuvres. He sucked a shrimp out of its partially attached shell, and wondered if decent catering was a sound compromise for being forced to attend.

Maybe.

That depended on how long he could continue to avoid Winry.

He shuddered.

Being at Central at the time, Edward had been instructed to come, and since Winry was around for his automail maintenance, she had been invited as well. By Lieutenant Hawkeye, Mustang had added with a knowing smirk.

_"You two shouldn't have a problem getting_ acquainted, _I don't think." _

Edward briefly considered the notion of becoming "acquainted" with Winry and his lungs seized.

He recalled catching sight of her earlier—he wasn't sure at first; he had just spotted a young, shapely girl from behind and her hair was different, done up elegantly, but the moment she had turned around, Edward felt all the blood drain from his face. He had then turned too quickly, stumbled, and collapsed behind a nearby pillar.

Leaning against the serving table, his mind raced unchecked. Being at an event where most people are dancing, at… very close proximity, and where _you're _expected to dance, and someone like… like your childhood friend and automail mechanic shows up, looking _fucking stellar_ in that tight black dress, scanning the room, _possibly for a potential dance partner,_ her crossed arms _obliviously pushing up her cleavag—_

His thoughts were thankfully interrupted by sudden choking.

Which was intensified by Armstrong's abrupt invasion of his personal space.

Edward thought he was going to die as a mighty hand slammed down on his back repetitively, supposedly in an attempt to help him.

"M-Major Armstrong…" Edward somehow avoided a face-first crash into the marble floor and doubled up with a shackling bout of coughing that wasn't necessarily related to shrimp.

The towering mass seemed to smile patiently for him to recover, before leaning in very close, magnifying Edward's discomfort, and asking in a low, serious tone if he had noticed anything suspicious.

"W-what? No…Everything's been as normal as ever."

Armstrong drew back to his full height, satisfied.

Edward gaped helplessly as he began to sparkle.

"Oh, but _thank goodness!_" Armstrong clenched his hands into powerful fists, emphasizing his declaration. "It makes my heart _soar_ to witness so many people coming together under such a _beautiful_ occasion…The Ball is meant to exemplify Honor, Peace, and National Pride, by virtue of the presence of great people of our country, and our neighbors, who participate… " Lo and behold, Edward could spot proverbial tears flowing down his stupendous face.

He gave a startled shout as Armstrong began sobbing, expressing the privilege and the profound joy of also being able to see the young alchemist partaking in the event, speaking with obnoxious reverence of his own youth, and such days of "childish innocence."

Edward, who had slapped his hand over his eyes, peered wearily over some ways through his fingers, spotted Winry, and caught a glimpse of her breasts swelling against the front of her dress as she bent over.  
_  
Yeah._

_Innocence. _

Armstrong had apparently satisfied himself, and, thankfully, whatever possessed him to leave Edward alone, galvanized him to the other side of the hall, where he promptly began harassing the foreign guests.

Edward sighed, sagging with relief.

She was in his sights again, across the hall and facing away, glove-donned hands gesturing as she spoke with another female guest.

Her naked back glowed under the chandelier, stark against the deep, low-cut black fabric of her dress, spanning and smoothing out over full hips.

Something in his chest rattled.

_Drink._

_You need a drink, Ed. _

An unsteady hand reached for the nearest glass on the table and he took a swig without even knowing what it was, ignoring the fact that it was a stupid idea. He swallowed, coughed and grimaced. Champagne.

_Ugh. _

Dresses and suits seemed to swirl together, colors flashing across the ballroom, mixing.

Edward's brows furrowed as Greed, in the form of Ling, made his way over, eyes thinning with opportunity. He was equally unappreciative of the kink in his deviant smile. He crossed his arms and distanced himself as the homunculus leaned up against the table. Greed plucked an _antipasto_ from the closest plate, and absently examined it.

"Your lady friend's here."

Edward flinched, feigning a dismissive snort.

"Goodness. That dress really does dip quite _low,_ doesn't it."

He fought back the gurgle that was traveling up his throat. He tilted his glass again, ignoring the foul taste.

Greed's grin deepened.

"You should dance with her, Ed."

Edward doubled over, uncontrollably spraying the marble floor with a half-gulp of champagne, sputtering and coughing.

Greed ignored him, popping the delicately wrapped morsel into his mouth, chewed at his leisure, and swallowed loudly.

His gaze gleamed over in her direction, his smile twisting. "You know, I never would have figured, with the overalls and the oil, but..."

The homunculus wiped his hands, smoothed out his bangs, and straightened his tie with purpose.

"...I don't think I'd mind making her... _acquaintance._"

Edward braced himself against the table.

Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, his mind was muddled, numb.  
_  
W…what? No… No, he can't do that._

_That's not right…_

Greed's was already moving forward, weaving through the crowd, and Edward's insides twisted.

_That's… no, that's just fucking…_

The… ridiculous notion of Greed courting Winry, of her actually accepting, them clasping hands, his hand wrapping around her waist and spinning together like the other guests around him, and Winry smiling at him like the other women were, teasingly, at _their_ dance partners…

Edward felt himself rise, his guts smoldering, and he didn't care what it meant.

He wasn't going to stand for it.

Everything narrowed and sharpened as he strode ahead, rudely pushing through the crowd. They didn't even exist, all he could see was Greed's swaying pony-tail and broad shoulders maneuvering swiftly around the guests. Winry's surprised, relieved face turned towards him as he drew nearer, coming into focus.

Her jaw dropped.

Maybe it was his gritted teeth, or how fast he was moving, or how he hauled himself across the floor, but when Edward narrowly avoided a twirling couple, ran in front of Greed and shouldered him forcefully out of his way, and came upon her, she was clutching her gloved hand to her chest, stepping back.

"Winry!"

She jumped, her eyes shocked wide.

His heart was pounding.

_"We're going to dance." _


	2. Part two

Neither of them moved.

Winry gaped with disbelief, and actually made the vague gesture of indicating herself with her forefinger, her eyes darting around to the other guests.

Edward was almost offended.

A moment passed, and she beamed, flushing, and somehow, his hot-blooded resolve saved him from decomposing on the spot with the prospective horror he had just unwittingly invited.

He couldn't feel his legs as she drew closer to him.

The focus he developed while charging over had put him on a hazardous edge. His neck throbbed with a frenzied pulse, like he had stormed up a mountain, and only just noticed the toll of his exertions and its staggering height when finally reaching the top.

Edward heard Greed scoff somewhere behind him, and knew, deep in his gut, that when Winry circled her arm around his shoulder, and threaded their hands together, that he couldn't risk the fall.

He sensed the pressure he applied to the small of her back with his automail hand, and fought back the vertigo.

They moved.

Somehow.

Edward could barely register the music past the dull roar between his ears.

__

Breathe, you dumbass.

He'd been looking at nothing in particular, and realized that he hadn't even noticed how much time had passed since their first purposeless step.

Edward started, switching his gaze back to her.

Winry's lips were pursed with impatience; he hadn't been paying attention to his feet, or her movements. He coughed, muttered something like "Hold on…" under his breath, smoothed out his sleeves and the front of his jacket, and exhaled shakily.

Edward thought that trying to settle his nerves would help, but when they had assumed their previous position, he realized that he really should have taken Mustang's advice.

Not that he was clueless about dancing, but he kept misreading her, and she was moving with a fluid ease that grew to irk him.

Edward scowled.

"_Che._ So, where did _you_ first learn how to dance?"

He hadn't noticed it earlier, but Winry's gaze was locked with his wayward feet. His brows furrowed—since when did she start looking so grim?

"…My dad taught me."

__

…Wow.

That was fucking smart, Ed.

Edward stammered, and managed to find his voice again.

"…But, no, I mean it, I mean, um, you're… better than I expected."

They circled around a couple, avoiding them.

"Thanks…I also got better with some of the other boys, back at home."

__

"Wh—when?!"

"Oh, here and there. Turn left, Ed, or you'll hit Armstrong."

Edward's ears burned. He couldn't believe what he just heard.

Winry was observing the other guests with uncharacteristic detachment, which only increased his mounting sense of unease.

"Those half-wits? I bet you left their heads spinning."

"Yeah, well, they were better than nothing."

He stiffened.

Edward had anticipated this Ball to be an uncomfortable event. He even entertained the possibility of becoming quite mad, depending on how things panned out.

But he never expected this sudden pang in his chest.

And while he wasn't sure what it meant, he decided that he would rather choose indignation over hurt.

"Oh yeah? Well, _I've _danced with some _girls,_ too."

"Oh really? Anyone I know?"

He faltered.

"They, uh, they weren't town girls."

Winry made a soft, clipped sound through her teeth, and this time, she looked him right in the face.

"Well, it's clear that _they_ didn't teach you as much as the_ boys_ taught _me_."

Edward stared.

The piece ended, and the guests around them turned their heads, stopping to applaud the musicians.

Winry slid her hands off his shoulders, catching the fabric of his jacket on the way down, before clapping.

Edward dropped his hands, shaking.

Without a word, he turned around and marched back to the long serving table.

He'd had enough.

He tried dancing.

Whatever.

Halfway across the ballroom, he glanced over his shoulder. She was still clapping, facing the other way, but not looking at the musicians.

Edward didn't care.

He strode to the other side of the hall, found an unoccupied space in the corner, and stood, locking his jaw, his fists clenching the ornate tablecloth of the serving table.

Edward was no stranger to anger, but seldom did it make his guts twist so perversely.

His heart pounded savagely in his ears.

Snapping his gaze back behind him, and scanning the crowd, he spotted her, closing in on a table on the far left side of the opposite wall. She slumped down into the chair in the corner, her hair concealing her face.

Once again, music swelled through the hall.

Unable to focus, details of the ballroom overtook him.

Men clutching their partners by their waists, women circling the rims of their champagne glasses with flirting fingertips, flashes of white teeth, tittering and boisterous laughter, sultry looks and gentlemen holding their ladies' hands, securing them with their smiles.

Edward couldn't stand it, and looked up at the ceiling instead.

The light of the chandeliers stung and dotted his vision. Grimacing, he brought his hand to his brow, furrowing and rubbing his temples.

So what.

It doesn't even matter.

It's just a stupid dance anyway, and it's not like he wanted to come in the first place.

So why the hell should_ he_ care.

_And Winry_, his thoughts followed in a rush, _if she wants to get all pissed off, she can be my fucking guest._

It wasn't _his_ problem.

Exhaling shakily, Edward reached for the nearest poured glass, brought it towards him with an unsteady grip, and hastily gulped it down. He hissed through clenched teeth as carbonation flared sharply through his sinuses.

The champagne was still just as disgusting.

He downed the rest of it anyway, and plunked the glass back onto the table thoughtlessly.

The sudden rush of alcohol cased a sudden, tingling warmth to expand through his chest and deep down into his stomach.

Everything blurred.

_Oh, here and there._

A twitch tugged at his left eye.

__

They were better than nothing.

He rubbed his temples mightily, as if the force he applied could stop her words from entering his mind.

_Well, it's clear that _they_ didn't teach _you _as much as the_ boys_ taught _me.

The sound of grinding steel barely registered as he fisted his automail hand.

_…My dad taught me._

Edward leaned against the side of the table, and drew his shoulders inward, and heaved a weary sigh.

He hadn't meant to bring up her father. Really, he hadn't. He avoided the topic of her murdered parents whenever he could.

In fact, he already knew that her father taught her how to dance.

That, and…

Edward remembered peeking through the crack in her doorway when they were young.

He had watched her pretend to dance with one of her stuffed animals, the male of the pair that she had designated as a surrogate mother and father, while her parents were in Ishbal and she thought she was alone.

He had just forgotten.

He had just…

__

How the hell could I have...

Edward's fingertips dragged heavily, slowly down his forehead, the tendons so tight that his hand trembled.

The lights stung so much that he couldn't even see the ceiling anymore.

He squinted.

His real leg went numb as he strove to clear his thoughts.

_So what._

_That doesn't excuse the..._

He swallowed over the lump in his throat, his gaze slipping to the reflective, polished floor.

Edward's grim reflection gazed back, and something intangible, right in the back of his mind, seemed to push itself and unhinge. Just enough.

His thoughts unraveled in a horrendous cacophony.

Voices that were so _spiteful_, so deliberate, and so unbecoming of her—he still couldn't believe that it they were originally _Winry's_ words—assaulted him again and again until his guts shriveled and twisted inside out from the pressure of their dissonance.

**As much as the _boys_ taught _me._**

"_Kkch_…"

Edward ground the knuckles of his fist against his heated forehead, grinding his teeth as he curled inward, his automail arm drawing tight across his stomach.

He gripped the side of his jacket, bunching and twisting the fabric fiercely.

One by one, with all of his might, refusing to let himself think, to actually _examine _how those invasive thoughts actually made him _feel,_ he forced them down.

__

Stop…

Calm the hell down, you idiot…

Edward straightened with a feigned sense of control, and crossed his arms, his trembling fists betraying his instability.

He regarded his environment with a ruthlessly foul glare, the unwelcome internal chorus reducing to a mere malicious hum.

The number ended, and Edward could spot Greed's head bob towards him through the clapping crowd.

He decided he didn't give a shit.

He didn't even move away when Greed drew near, bearing his wide, tight lipped smile, and asserted himself into Edward's personal space. The homunculus hummed the tune of the previous piece poorly with undisguised pleasure, and grabbed a glass of champagne by Edward's right.

Greed drew back, jutted his hip and tipped his glass to the young alchemist in a toast, his teeth flashing white as his grin opened.

"Well there, Edward Elric, I'd have to say, that dance was quite pathetic."

He sipped his champagne obnoxiously, his slanted eyes smiling at him above the crystal rim of the glass.

Edward's face darkened and tensed, surveying the hall bitterly, but didn't respond.

Again, the conductor raised his arms, and the next number began.

They stood together in relative silence, interrupted only by Greed's loud sipping, chewing, and deliberate lip smacking.

Edward shifted his gaze after a while, and caught brief glimpses of Winry through the swirling guests.

She hadn't moved from her chair or bothered to push the hair out of her face. Her arms and legs were crossed, closed off.

He didn't look away.

Greed finished his drink, and tapped the side of his glass with his fingernails. This time, when he looked at Edward, he tilted his head, and gave him a twisted frown.

The homunculus regarded him quietly, before putting his empty glass next to a plate of _canapés._

"You know, Ed."

He leaned against the table, and crossed his arms.

"Greed is the greatest thing in the world, but it's not worth much if you're not appreciating your possessions."

Edward bristled.

Without another word, Greed went off in the direction of the seated diplomats at the other end of the hall.

The music smoothed into a long, slow lull, and a number of guests had stopped dancing to mingle. Women congregated at the sidelines, discreetly adjusting their dresses and fanning themselves.

__

…That's…

Edward kneaded his forearm brutally with his automail hand.

__

…Just bullshit.

He tore his gaze away from Winry.

__

It's ludicrous.

His face twisted.

__

It's completely inapplicable…

It's just…

His arms uncrossed against his will, and dangled limp at his sides.

__

Just…

They hung heavy, low, dragging Edward slowly into a slump.

Pulled down by their weight.

His bangs fell, reducing his vision to the sight of his black shoes.

Edward's automail ached.

He heard a young man nearby, just a few meters away, trying to coax a female guest to dance with him.

Nervous giggling, a roll of deep chuckles.

Footsteps and a moments pause.

A striking slap split in Edward's ears, followed by a yelp and heels clattering defiantly to the other side of the hall.

The ache strengthened, worse than it ever did when it was raining outside.

Gazing at his left foot, he thought of it more like cold, pressurized lead than steel.

He stared, numb.

They weren't his limbs.

They were hers.

They were hers, and it was because of her that he could stride forward, stand down his enemies, and fail at dancing.

Edward drew himself to his full height, and looked across the ballroom, through the guests.

A brief glimpse of crossed legs, an absently held glass, and delicate blond bangs and tendrils concealing a shadowed face.

He inhaled, and a body made a lead flexed as though it were made of flesh.

His legs operated autonomously.

__

She's just Winry.

He paused on his way through the mingling crowd by the table, waiting for openings, weaving though them absently.

__

She fixes my automail.

The other side of the hall seemed so far away.

__

She's--

He moved around the dancing guests, his heartbeat slow but persistent, pulsing with each step he took.

__

She's just--

Each even footstep was impossibly loud.

__

She's just a friend.

When they were young, in Risembool, they often played together on her grandmother's porch. He'd always start as she darted out of the shade, the sun catching her hair.

The grin on her face as she tugged on his bangs, ignoring his protests.

Hauling him along.

__

This doesn't threaten anything.

Laughing as he pushed her into the river.

Chasing her into her grandmother's study, and then staggering and tripping on his own feet, crashing onto the wood floor and holding his arms up to protect himself as she hurled tools at him, until she found the wrench that would settle everything else in the future.

The music stopped.

After clearing the clapping crowd, Edward stepped slowly towards the remote corner where a young lady sat, inert, and stood before her.

His mind was heavy, numb.

Winry held a drink loosely in her hand, elbow on the table and knuckles pressed to her temple.

Years ago, as the two brothers took their first steps on the departing train, her face flashed, earnest and burning wet.

_Don't forget to come home, Edward._


End file.
